The days of our years are threescore years and ten, Or even by reason of strength fourscore years; Yet is their pride but labour and sorrow; For it is soon gone, and we fly away.
And Jacob said unto Pharaoh, The days of the years of my pilgrimage are an hundred and thirty years: few and evil have been the days of the years of my life, and they have not attained unto the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage.
I am this day fourscore years old: can I discern between good and bad? can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink? can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women? wherefore then should thy servant be yet a burden unto my lord the king?
They are exalted; yet a little while, and they are gone; Yea, they are brought low, they are taken out of the way as all other, And are cut off as the tops of the ears of corn.
Mine age is removed, and is carried away from me as a shepherd's tent: I have rolled up like a weaver my life; he will cut me off from the loom: from day even to night wilt thou make an end of me.
As yet I am as strong this day as I was in the day that Moses sent me: as my strength was then, even so is my strength now, for war and to go out and to come in.